


And Bingo Was His Name-O

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [106]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Fluff, Fluff Prompt Bingo!, M/M, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Prompts from Fluffy Bingo
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Spicyhoney, Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus
Series: by any other name [106]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1039829
Comments: 97
Kudos: 109





	1. Cold Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> As I recover from being sick, I have been feeling very stagnant and uninspired. So! I feel the need to try fulfilling these fluffy bingo prompts from twitter!
> 
> [The list is here.](https://twitter.com/freshiegayboi/status/1300516601880600578)
> 
> 1\. Cold Morning  
> 2\. Rainy Nights  
> 3\. Cuddles  
> 4\. First Kiss  
> 5\. Family Dinner  
> 6\. Swingset
> 
> Hope y'all need some fluffy drabbles as much as I do.

* * *

Twilight was fading as Stretch stepped out onto the back porch, the first smudges of the coming sunrise lighting the horizon. Early enough yet that the chickens didn’t immediately come dashing out of the coop, still tucked away in their cozy little boxes with their heads tucked beneath their wings as they dreamed of juicy bugs. 

(Except Nugget. Nugget might be dreaming of world domination, Stretch couldn’t be sure, probably better not to know.)

The patio chair was a little dewy, not so bad that Stretch wasn’t willing to sit on it. His cigarettes ended up on the table, untouched, as he watched the sun slowly creep upward, ready to chase away the lingering chill in the air that was threatening to make Stretch shiver despite his fluffy robe. It was a rare occasion for him to be up first, Edge almost always beat him awake. Only today, he woke too early and not enough tired, slipping out of bed before his restless flopping around could wake Edge. He’d left his husband snoozing, but odds were good that wasn’t gonna last long. 

Case in point, the sliding glass door opening behind him. He could smell the coffee before a cup was set at his elbow, steam rising from it into smoky curls in the chill morning air. 

“thanks, babe,” Stretch picked up the cup and took a sip, sighing happily at the perfect mix of cream and sugar. A kiss brushed against the top of his skull, along with a faint murmur that was probably ‘good morning’. Coulda been ‘wood scorning’ or even ‘forewarning’. Nonconforming? Context probably mattered and—

Oh.

His orange hoodie clung to Edge with a slightly snugger fit than it did on Stretch, those broader bones of his taking up more room, but it hung lower, almost down to the middle of Edge’s femurs. His very bare femurs, seemed like he grabbed the first thing off the seat of the Stretch’s unofficial ‘clothes chair’ instead of his robe, probably worry-warting and wanting to get downstairs to make sure there was no early morning crisis averting needed. 

Because he was a shit, Edge wasn’t wearing his leg brace and the scars from his recent breaks were still lurid against the bone, branching out, obvious and pale. Eventually, they’d darken and blend in with the rest of the bone. Mostly, anyway, Edge had enough other scars to give a good idea of how they’d end up. 

Stretch didn’t really want to think about that. He let his gaze linger at femur level, looking over the rim of his coffee cup at the way the hem of his sweatshirt teased its way even higher as Edge sat down with his own cup, knees primly together to better conceal what lay beneath, the brat. 

“chilly out here this morning,” Stretch said, idly, just for something to say.

“It is,” Edge agreed and while Stretch dumbly stared, he drew his bare legs up and pulled the sweatshirt over them, resting his chin on his knees as he sat all curled up cozy into Stretch’s sweatshirt.

Edge tended to be a tough ass, whether he was in a business suit or his leather pants, he didn’t really lend himself to vulnerability much. Which was probably why the sight of him, all curled up, his bony knees pushing out against the worn orange fabric and stretching out the material, was so fucking adorable. He had his arms wrapped around his knees from the outside, sleeves falling over his hands like impromptu gloves. Altogether, it made him look smaller and sweetly cuddly and too fucking young to have so much responsibility heaped on him, and the only thing keeping Stretch from yanking him into his lap to let a wandering hand see if Edge had anything on underneath was the fact that it would ruin the view. 

Instead, he tore his gaze away, before it could make Edge self-conscious or worse, even more smirkingly teasing, and watched the sunrise instead, sneaking sly little glances over at Edge whenever he could. The coffee was warming, sure, settling all toasty into his magic but those looks at his husband were the thing really cranking his temperature, settling his internal stove at a warm simmer. He wouldn’t mind getting Edge’s furnace stoked before he headed off to work, but there was time for that later. 

For now, this was not a bad way to start the day. Stretch sank back in his chair, draining the last sugary sludge from bottom of his coffee cup and when he reached his hand out, Edge took it, gingerly, his slim, bare fingers chilly against Stretch’s as they sat together to watch the sun rise. 

-fin


	2. Rainy Nights

* * *

“Hand me another pot.”

There were still plenty to choose from, so Stretch decided to go with the Dutch oven, handing it over. Even as he watched Edge carefully position it, a drop of water plonked on his skull, almost right between his sockets. 

“think we’re fighting a losing battle here, babe,” Stretch said. This time he went with what he was told was the bottom half of a double boiler, sliding it under the newest sprung leak. He wandered over to where Edge was mopping furiously, nearly tripping over a half-full jar on his way. 

“Do you?” Edge said curtly. He wrung the mop out into the sink and started again, attacking the puddles gathering on the tile furiously. Stretch winced, yeah, his baby was mad as a wet hen, which was sort of ironic since the chicken coop was nice and dry. “And what would you suggest as an alternative?” Edge asked as he mopped, “They won’t be able to fix the roof until it stops raining, shall we allow the storm to continue to flood our kitchen?”

Stretch looked around at their kitchen or rather, the shambles of it. Plastic sheeting was taped up or draped protectively over the cupboards and counters, held down by slowly filling pots and pans, the collection of raindrops dripping into each one coming up with a cacophonous melody. Their sturdy, trustworthy roof had betrayed them as the storm surged and the only perk Stretch could come up with was at least it didn’t choose to sacrifice a room with carpet.

That probably wasn’t much consolation for Edge.

“i never have liked swimming, so a pool is out.” He slanted Edge a look. “we could start building an ark, i hear in the aboveground it’s sort of a tradition.”

Huh, guess the wet hen comparison was pretty apt because Edge puffed up like one. He whirled around, mop in hand like a weapon and before Stretch could even come up with a plan to cool his temper, (groveling was a hasty first contender), Edge deflated like a popped balloon. A wet popped balloon and when Stretch reached for him, Edge leaned into his soggy embrace.

“sorry, babe,” Stretch murmured against the top of Edge’s skull. “this sucks, i know.” 

“No, it’s all right,” Edge sighed. “You’re right, there’s not much we can do except try to keep the water damage to a minimum until the storm ends.”

Stretch was pretty sure a crew was standing by, waiting for the first chance to haul ass up on their housetop, click click click. “rain is supposed to let up tomorrow, they’ll be able to patch the leak.” Stretch pressed another kiss to Edge’s skull and let him go, giving him a lopsided smile. “could try a round of ‘rain rain go away’.” 

Edge didn’t smile, but he inhaled like he was holding back a laugh, “I think my voice is more appropriate for ‘Thunder Road.’”

“split the difference and go for ‘singing in the rain?’” Stretch offered. Another huff of almost laughter and Edge turned away, heading over to dump some of the half-full pots into the sink. 

And if he could hear his baby humming very softly, Stretch didn’t say a word, only raising his own voice in song, with the dripping of the water in pots playing backup, “…just singing in the rain! what a glorious feeling, i'm happy again—"

-fin


	3. Cuddles

* * *

The sun overhead was still cheery and hot, uncaring that autumn was fast approaching. Hot enough that Edge wiped the sweat from his skull with the cleanish wrist of his gardening glove. His fault for coming out to the garden without a towel but now that he’d gotten started, he didn’t want to stop.

Next to him, laid out on a clean cloth, were carefully separated bundles of freshly cut herbs. When he could, he preferred to grow his own, and someday his cilantro would thrive instead of ending up as withered little brown stalks. It was something to strive for. 

He heard the telltale footsteps in the grass and took them as the warning they were, hardly grunting when sudden weight was sprawled against his back, two lanky arms draped over his shoulders pulling him back into an awkward embrace. 

“Hello, love,” Edge said absently. He set aside his clippers and reached up to clasp Stretch’s forearm, returning the hug as best he could, considering that most of it was behind him.

“hi, babe.” The greeting was coupled with a hasty kiss pressed to the side of his skull, uncaring about any lingering perspiration, and Edge couldn’t help a faint smile as his husband immediately launched into, “did you know that you need a certain amount of hugs every day for optimum health?”

“Is that so?” Edge couldn’t help a tiny, disappointed sound when his most current hug drew away. He watched Stretch flop down on the grass next to him and asked, “And what is the requisite number of hugs for optimization?”

“according to the study, we need four hugs a day for survival," Stretch ticked off on his fingers, “eight hugs a day for maintenance and twelve hugs a day for growth.”

“I think we should cut you off at eleven,” Edge said dryly, “if you get any more growth, you’ll need new pants.”

“please, like you wouldn’t love a chance to take me clothes shopping,” Stretch scoffed. He scrambled back up and practically into Edge’s lap, hugging him again, this time properly from the front. “that’s two. i’ll have to come back for the rest, figure we gotta space out the dosage so you don’t get too much at once.”

“I may need a few extra, to make up for any missed doses.” He’d meant it to fall teasingly, but the way Stretch’s arms tightened around him to the point of pain meant the joke had fallen flat. 

“Love—” Edge began, hesitantly. 

Only to grimace at the particularly sloppy and somewhat moist kiss that Stretch pressed to his cheek bone, right next to the crack that scarred it, incongruous when paired with a sudden fierce whisper, “any hugs you ever missed, ever, i’ll make up to you. i promise.” Edge closed his sockets and though Stretch didn’t protest, he felt the soft whoosh of breath from his husband as his own grip tightened, holding him closer still. No past hurts could ever take away from the comfort of this embrace. 

All too soon Stretch loosened his hold and Edge reluctantly did the same, letting him escape. 

“anyway, let you get back to it.” Stretch scrambled to his feet and if his eye lights were suspiciously bright, Edge said nothing, “be back soon to give you another dose, yeah?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Edge said softly. He watched Stretch wander back inside at a pace that could charitably be called a mosey, then got back to work. 

His next dose would be coming soon and he didn’t want to miss it. 

-finis-


	4. First Kiss

* * *

_redacted_

-finis-

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry, we'll see it eventually 😁)


	5. Family Dinner

* * *

The restaurant was a simple diner, owned and operated by the same family for twenty years, though these days it was usually the son who took his smoke breaks out back by the dumpster, not so much as to have a cigarette, but to breathe air that didn’t smell like hot metal and grease from leaning over the griddle. 

Breakfast was served all day, specials available on Sunday, and the stuffed cabbage meal on Wednesdays very nearly required a reservation if one wanted even a chance at getting some.

The waitress, (no blood relation, but family nonetheless) looked up from writing on her pad at the clank of the bell over the door, her ready greeting dying on her lips as she mutely watched their newest patrons walking in. 

A group of Monsters, skeletons, of varying heights and appearances, but that was not what left her speechless. In fact, she knew two of the shortest ones, they were regulars to the point she wordlessly brought extra condiments when they ordered the Farmer Breakfast special, extra hash browns. The tip was generous enough to make up for stomach-churning sight of a plate doused with an entire bottle of ketchup and the puns bad enough to make even their sour-faced busboy snicker. 

A guy was with them this time, a human guy, pretty nondescript, skinny with brown hair, nothing to write home about, but that also didn’t leave her, and most of the diner, staring. 

No, that was the fine coating of dirt that stained every one of them, from skull to sneakers, was it racist to think that they looked like they’d only recently dug themselves out of their graves? One of the skeletons in the back, a tall, red-eyed drink of mud with freakishly sharp teeth was wiping fruitlessly at his skull with what looked like a filthy wet nap. The rest of them only stood at the entrance by the ‘please wait to be seated’ sign patiently, though one other tall boy was poking hopefully at the little gumball machine at the side. 

“heya, doris!” That jerked her back into action. She hastily finished with her current table, (two orders of Adam and Eve on a raft) and scurried over to the familiar ketchup boy.

“Hey, hun,” she said, eyeing his companions. “don’t think you’ll fit in your regular booth.”

He grinned up at her and gave her a wink, “yeah, our moment of _booth_ has come. do what ya can, we’ll be happy to plant our bones anywhere.”

He sounded a trifle weary and at least two of his companions looked as if they were stifling themselves. Well, they were filthy, but they didn’t stink, and they weren’t leaving a trail, so she shrugged and led them to the back of the restaurant, where there was a large corner booth. 

She left them with menus and a promise to return and headed to the kitchens. She came back with a fresh pot of coffee, wordlessly pouring for everyone who held out their plain white mug as she tried to pretend she wasn’t listening to the low chatter. 

“told you it wouldn’t work.”

“c’mon, it totally worked! not a single broken bone!”

Louder, uncaring of possible eavesdroppers, “If your standard of success includes a level of acceptable injury, then you and I are going to be having a very long discussion tonight.”

“…no broken bones and nothing caught on fire? look, andy even kept both his eyebrows!”

“I do like having eyebrows.”

“Yes, and we did not even have to call for legal counsel this time which is of course not something we have ever had to do after an experiment before.”

“…bro, you and me need to have a talk, too.”

“done nothin’ but talk since we got here. all of ya shut it and pick somethin’.”

“I think I’ve already consumed my daily allotment of grease simply by touching the menu.”

“get the soup, babe. fits, since you _souped_ in and saved the day. actions speak _chowder_ than words.”

“Ugh, Papy, your delivery and timing could use some work.”

“I’d agree. If you’re so terribly eager for more action, we can have that discussion now.”

“…wow, check out everything on this menu, whew, breakfast all day, who wants pancakes!”

“…pancakes sound good.”

“Pancakes, yes.”

“yep. _pancakes_ makes perfect.” Doris’s blue-hoodie regular shifted his gaze from the menu to her, “think we’re ready to order.”

Doris set aside the coffee pot and got out her pad, her pencil poised over it as she looked at her usual, unusual, group. As if they hadn’t just dropped an entire cabinet of curiosities right into their plain little diner and tonight on her own smoke break, tapping ash onto the cracked asphalt by the dumpster she’ll tell the busboy about them. He’ll tell his girlfriend the next day in hushed, humorous tones, and she’ll tell someone else, gossip traveling on slow words about the liminal space created in a corner booth on an absent Thursday.

For now, Doris is only thinking of her tip, shoving the question of ‘what didn’t work’ and ‘experiments??’ to the back of her mind as she asked briskly, “All right, boys, what’ll it be?”

-finis-


	6. Swing: Time of My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the prompt was for swingset, but I've already written that one for them! So I went with a different sort of swinging. (Not that one, either, this is rated E for everyone.)

* * *

The Human female at the front of the room clapped her hands to get the classes attention as she announced, “All right, everyone, we’re going to go through the basic steps. Whoever is leading,” her gaze flicked towards them; he and Stretch were the only same-sex couple, and her placid smile never changed as she said, “The right hand goes beneath your partner’s shoulder blade. Your partner should put their left hand on your shoulder. Lead partners, make sure you keep your elbow up so there’s no space between your arms!”

It all sounded simple enough to Edge, particularly compared to combat training. Of course, those training sessions never included Stretch; before their first attempt could even begin, Edge found himself an involuntary collaborator in a comedy routine of confused direction until even he was doubted his left from his right. 

“Hold still!” Edge finally hissed and Stretch froze, one hand still dangling loosely in the air. Edge shoved it down to his side and took Stretch’s left hand, plopping it on his own shoulder before settling his own right hand just beneath Stretch’s scapula. “There!”

Stretch’s meek, “sorry, sorry,” made him regret his irritation. He’d known this would be an exercise in patience before they’d ever signed up for the class, and he shored up his inner calm, because if he had to guess, he was going to need it before the evening ended. 

“It’s all right, love,” Edge murmured, watching the instructors slowly go through the steps. At least one of them needed to be paying attention and he had a feeling that it was on him to take the lead, in more ways than one. 

The dance class had been Stretch’s idea. He loved trying new things, his enthusiasm always charmed Edge, even though some worked out better than others. Knitting, for example, a dubious success only because Stretch tended to use the skill for evil. Pottery, on the other hand, was an utter travesty, and the results for that class were currently mostly hidden beneath an overgrown fern in the backyard. The color of the glaze Stretch managed to create was probably still haunting the instructor’s dreams. 

Like so many of his experiments, whatever the results, Stretch was happy to simply try. So when he brought home the flyer for swing dance lessons, nearly glowing with bright excitement, Edge could hardly turn him away, although he had his suspicions from the start how this was going to end. 

For once, Edge truly hated being right. He watched regretfully as Stretch’s enthusiasm waned by the moment, his pale eye lights flicking over the other couples, taking in how they caught on quickly to the directions. Meanwhile, their first step ended up with him treading on Edge’s foot. To be expected, of course, they were learning. It was when the second, third, and fourth ended the same way that a deep honeyed color stained his cheek bones, each mumbled apology lower and harder to hear. 

The problem wasn’t dance skill; Stretch could dance, if you called the sinuous way he swiveled his hips on the dance floor at the bar dancing, and Edge did, always appreciated that unexpectedly lithe grace from his often adorably clumsy husband. He could waltz as well, following easily whenever Edge lead.

It was these more complex steps that left him stumbling and every time he floundered, his gaze went wildly around the room, as if he were expecting to find the other couples snickering and staring. None of them were paying them the slightest attention, but it didn’t seem to stop him from looking, his pretty face tight with embarrassed discomfort. 

Another stumble and Edge interrupted his muttered apology with a quiet, “Stretch.” 

“yeah, i know,” Stretch sighed, miserably. He ducked his head, making himself smaller, for once shorter than Edge as he hunched down, “good thing you wear steel-toe boots. look, we can just go—"

Edge interrupted him softly, “Close your eyes.”

Startled, Stretch did the exact opposite, chin jerking up and his pale eye lights flashing with confusion. “what? i can barely do it when i can see what i’m doing.”

“Then it won’t matter if you close your eyes,” Edge countered. “Trust me?”

“oh, sure, toss that challenge down on my shoes,” Stretch muttered. “i already feel bad about starting this on the wrong foot.” But he closed his sockets with a sigh, allowing Edge to again settle his left hand on his shoulder and take his right hand in his own.

“Now, just listen to me, all right?” Edge said, low, slowly guiding him, “Backstep, forward, step right, right, now left, left.” They made their slow way through the routine once, twice, and as Edge looked up at his husband, his sockets still closed, the tightness around Stretch’s mouth eased into a faint smile. “See? You can do this if you don't overthink it.”

“yeah,” Stretch opened one socket, slyly, still following as Edge carefully led, “thanks, patrick swayze.”

“Who?”

“don’t worry about it, babe, just don’t put me in a corner.” He nearly stumbled as Edge guided them into a half-turn, catching himself on a bitten off curse even as their steps smoothed. He screwed his sockets closed again and grumbled, “next time, we’re taking the mixology class, ‘cause i could sure use a drink.”

“If you like,” Edge said agreeably, and with his sockets closed, Stretch couldn’t see his faint smile, and what wouldn’t he be willing to do for his husband’s delight? “Whatever makes you happy, love. Whatever makes you happy.”

-finis-


End file.
